


Afterburn

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, The Academy Is...
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William has no one to blame but himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterburn

**Author's Note:**

> For [the porn battle X](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/30726.html) for the prompt "Mike Carden/William Beckett, sunburn"

  
The problem with California is that it’s hot, but it’s not humid, so even when he’s been out in the sun too long, it doesn’t feel like it. Which is why he’s sprawled face down on Carden’s bed, shivering in the air conditioning and wishing he were dead.

“So, I’m thinking we should do this in a different time signature. Mix it up.”

“I hate you.” William knows his voice is muffled, but he’s sure the venom and pure vitriol come through. “You’re evil incarnate. Spawn of Satan.”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t wear sunscreen.” Mike plays a few chords then frowns. “Slow it down or speed it up?”

“Cut off my head.”

“If I thought I could dig the lyrics out like I was scooping out a pumpkin, I totally would.”

William lifts his head, the burnt skin of his neck tight and pinching, sending a bolt of a headache through his skull. “That’s vivid. And disgusting.”

“And now I want pumpkin seeds.” Mike tosses his notebook onto Bill’s ass. The paper slides off his briefs, the edges ruffling against the small of William’s back. “Fucker.”

“How is that my fault? If anything, I resemble a pepper more than a pumpkin.”

“A lobster. Shit, I’m hungry. You want lunch?”

“No,” William groans. “I want to die.”

“Not on my bed. Besides, it’ll be an awesome tan. After if fades. And peels. You’ll be shedding skin like crazy. Very cobra-esque.”

“I’m not _in_ anything that requires me to be cobra-esque, so just _kill me_.”

“Drama queen.” Mike sets his guitar down and gets up, pushing the notebook off of William’s back onto the bed. He heads out of the room.

“Where are you going?”

“Hungry.” There are distant sounds of silverware and cupboards opening, dishes clacking together. It feels too distant and dreamlike, and the only thing real is the heat coming off him in waves. He’s half-asleep or passed out, or just overloaded when Mike comes back. The bed dips slightly as he sits on it.

“What are you having?” When Mike doesn’t answer, William turns his head to repeat himself. He’s cut off by a cold burst shattering against his shoulder blade and sending rivulets of wetness down his skin.

His ‘what the fuck’ is cut off by Mike’s ‘ice cream’, and quickly followed by the feel of a cold spoon against his spine and then even colder ice cream melting into thick sludge on his skin.

“M-Mike…”

“Feel better?”

It feels sticky and warm, clammy on his skin. Mike doesn’t let that stop him, spooning more onto him until the sharp heat fades beneath the cold shock of it. “Sticky.”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch.” Mike lets drops fall down in a slow line along William’s neck, and he can’t help but shiver. Mike moves further onto the bed, straddling William, bare knees on either side of his hips.

William can feel Mike’s weight settle just below his ass on his upper thighs. There’s no burn there, thanks to his shorts, but he still feels overheated. “Carden.”

“That was a hint to shut up.” Mike sets the bowl on William’s back, cold porcelain leaking the smallest hint of condensation on his skin before Mike tilts it and William feels a lazy river of ice cream flow along his spine.

“Mike. Mike. Fuck.” He shivers, too hot and too cold all at once. Mike doesn’t stop, letting the ice cream fall in scoops and settle on his back before setting the bowl aside and pushing his fingers into the clumps and painting William’s red skin. “Mike. Mike. Shit. Fuck. Fuck.” He buries his head against the mattress, his whole body grinding down.

Mike moves off of him and William whimpers, not sure if his reaction is relief or disappointment. He doesn’t have time to decide as Mike’s sticky hands slide beneath the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down William’s legs. They catch on William’s dick and he reaches down to free it, shifting up and back toward Mike. It causes the ice cream to spill and slide over his sides to his stomach, thick drops of it falling onto the head of his cock.

“Shit. Shit.” He thrusts down again, or tries, but Mike’s hands find William’s hips and hold them, tugging him back, onto his knees. He goes, more willing than he likes to admit, spreading his legs wider. Mike huffs a rough laugh, his fingers dragging melted ice cream down the curve of William’s ass. William thrusts back and Mike laughs again.

“Patience has no place in the Bill Beckett dictionary.”

“Carden.” It’s a moan and if it weren’t for their rule – established _very_ early on – that mocking each other’s sexual responses is off limits, William might be embarrassed by how wanton he sounds. “C’mon.”

“Yeah,” Mike agrees softly, sticky ice cream replaced by cool lube as he thrusts inside William, fingers callused and thick, spread wide to open him up. “Fuck, Bill.”

“Yes. Yes, that’d be…that’d be good.” He bows his head, hands fisting in the sheets as Mike fingers him, working them deeper, sliding a third finger in. William catches his breath as best he can, his lungs feeling like they’re constricted, trapped by the tightness of his skin. “M-Mike. Fuck. Please. Please.”

“Fuck,” Mike growls under his breath as he pulls back. William bites his lower lip to keep from making a noise, losing the fight when he feels Mike against him again, the hard pressure of his cock penetrating him. He whimpers, gasping roughly, thrusting back. Mike’s body is tense against him, his stomach muscles quivering as he buries himself in William, hands curved around his hips to hold him close. “Fucking…Christ, Bill.”

“Mike. Fuck. Yes.” He pushes back and they’re moving, finding a rhythm like always. Mike’s body is hard and solid, there when William leans back. Mike reaches around, wrapping his hand around Bill’s cock and then it’s _right_ and they’re in sync and William doesn’t remember the burn or the heat or the music, just this feeling of Mike inside him, hot and thick and deep.

He comes, wet against Mike’s hand, breathing hard as Mike thrusts deeper and comes as well. William is sticky everywhere from ice cream and come and sweat and his sunburn itches like fuck.

“Get off me.”

“Wow, and they say romance is dead.” Mike eases out of him and slaps William hard on the ass. “Shakespeare’s got nothing on you, Beckett.”

“Just tell me you have aloe.” He gets off the bed and heads for the bathroom, the shower, some kind of relief. “I beg of you.”

“Hey, if you’d told me there would be begging, I would have held out longer.”

William shuts the bathroom door. “I hate you.”

“I know you do.” Mike opens the door and waves the bottle of aloe at him. “So I’ll just throw this away.”

“I hate you.” William grabs the bottle and shoves Mike out of the bathroom. “So much.”

“I take it that means you don’t want help getting it on your back?”

“Oh shut up.” William huffs.

Mike laughs, getting in a rare last word with William. “That’s what I thought.”  



End file.
